


Stolen Memories

by wherenonagoes



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Reunion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-21
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-07-25 22:36:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7549915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wherenonagoes/pseuds/wherenonagoes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been a long time since Jack has been able to live with himself comfortably. Ever since Switzerland he's felt empty, but he's sure that the abandoned Watchpoints around the world will have enough evidence to fill the void left by Gabriel Reyes' death.<br/>---------<br/>Gabriel's been living a half-life, needing to sustain himself off the souls of other people. It's left him bitter, having to go through the new memories he acquires once he's devoured their soul. But he thought of something, maybe finding people who knew him, who knew Jack before he died, will help. That way at least his new memories aren't so bad, and maybe even happy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this is the first fic I've written in a while, so pls be patient with me. If you see any like huge errors, please message me or tell me so I can fix it. Thank you for reading!!

Public transportation used to be something that Jack admired, he really did. It was the community giving to itself; it  allowed others ease of access to things they needed. Now all Jack sees as he stalks from shadow to shadow is a bus hovering with people who didn’t know how to use their feet. He’d use public transportation if every police organization that had more than ten people wasn't hunting him down. So he was only a little jealous.

No, Jack just had his own two feet and a pair of shoes he’s sure should have worn down by now. They hadn’t which was a miracle, but not a day went by that he didn’t check. He couldn’t afford to lose his footing anywhere, not even in the shadows of a town that had one bus traveling down its long main road.

The town was nothing to write home about. Posters of his face weren't hanging from every wall; he hardly thought someone would recognize it, but he still made sure to stay hidden. As for now, he walked with a bag of groceries down a side road to avoid running into anyone. He had a big mission tomorrow, and he needed to make sure he felt well enough to go through with it, not that that would stop him anyway.

The small town had once been a real place to settle down. Since the fall, and since the nearby Watchpoint sat abandoned, the town didn’t even have a thousand residents; many of the houses now sat rundown and empty. This also meant there were plenty of places for Jack to choose where to sleep.  He looked toward the ones where the local utility runners had forgotten to take them off the grid, so he could use the bathroom and such. One such house rested by the edge town, and it was to this house that Jack returned to.

Maps littered the dining table, having gone paper  so no one could find where he was planning to move next. He stacked and pushed these to the side as he got out the loaf of bread and measly lunch meat he’d been able to buy. Instead of a map, he pulled out a large blueprint, the schematics of the nearby Watchpoint, and continued to memorize it. The success of the mission relied on him knowing the different ways he could escape should the rumors of someone else sneaking around be true. Getting caught off guard and shot before his mission was over was the last thing he wanted to happen; second to last thing.

After a late dinner, and having studied the blueprint enough, Jack decided to say fuck it and go to the Watchpoint now. There was no use waiting, if he was going to die there he wanted to get it over with. As it was, he was only expecting hooligans from the surrounding towns to be messing with it, like teenagers did with haunted houses. Nothing of importance had ever been stored there, it had always been more of a waypoint than a watchpoint when operatives were traveling. At least that was what Jack had been led to believe; it could have been anything underneath all the lies people sold him back when he was strike commander.

After he packed anything he didn’t want found under a floorboard, Jack hoisted his pulse rifle up off the bed and set toward the Watchpoint. He was careful to stay out of any street lighting and to keep the reliable piece of equipment up enough to run. He lugged on, ignoring how tired his legs were from not having slept since the day before. Instead he focused on what his visor decided to point out to keep him safe. It seemed there was someone driving on the nearby road out of town, but glancing further to his left he saw there was a bar. Cars parked all around the building and light laughter escaped from people who only cared about the brew they were downing that night. Jack wished he could have been the same, but he couldn’t retire, for more than just one reason.

He looked back down the path he followed; the sand around him made it hard to hide, but that didn’t stop him from swerving to go behind each palm or cactus. Soon enough any and all traffic was gone, leaving him a long jaunt toward the Watchpoint; it stood above the rest of the dunes, no longer a beacon of light to those around it.

The road leading to the watchpoint had long concrete walls on both sides, a large electric fence acting as the gate. It wasn’t as impressive as others, but he guessed that this gate still worked while the others were broken or tampered with to allow for easier break ins. The stuff in front of him would still fry an egg. At least it was supposed to do that. He braced himself as he touched the gate with his gloved hand, only for nothing to happen except for the door to not give, a large lock the size of a baseball holding down a chain between the two doors. Jack sighed and aimed his rifle before breaking it off, pushing one of the gate doors open and hurrying down the road.

None of the lights were lit, nothing in the vicinity even seemed to be alive, as if the place needed new batteries, but no one cared enough to replace them. Jack ran down the pavement, sticking close to the wall so if anyone were to pass the street at the front they wouldn’t see him. The stairs leading to the doors had clear railing, letting Jack look across the expanse of the desert. His visor assessed any potential threat, locking on a moving cloud of black smoke. Except it wasn’t smoke, and Jack knew that. He cursed under his breath and hurried into the watchpoint, slamming the door behind him; now was the time to put his studying to the test as he tried to remember where the personnel files were.

The watchpoint served almost like an apartment complex, a place for people to take a few days off and heal from treatments of any kind or just rest from assignments before moving on to another watchpoint positioned closer to an omnium. Doors adorned all the walls, and Jack ran towards the nearest flight of stairs, knowing that the file cabinets he sought were underground. Of course since the watchpoint was dead, that meant he was walking through the dark, but his visor lit everything up, even if it was all with an orange tint. The hallways went on and on, and he knew that each room would hold various files, if in shut down computers or in file cabinets, sometimes both. He was looking for the latter, because anything left on computers here wouldn’t be worth anything, not to him anyway.

A crash from upstairs let him know he had company, that whatever time he had to find what he was looking for halved. Jack cursed again and kicked down the nearest door, scanning the inside only to find nothing; a different room then. He took a large breath as he prepared to kick down another door he heard screams coming from upstairs. So there were people hiding out here. Jack groaned and looked to his right, and there was a staircase as he knew there would be. He climbed it to see a group of kids not old enough to drive scrambling away from the figure shrouded in his own cloud of darkness.

“Leave them alone.” Jack aimed his rifle as the figure turned to him. Reaper laughed until Jack started shooting, shouting for the kids to run. The black clad man continued to laugh as everything Jack shot ran through him to hit the wall on the other side of the room. Reaper pulled out his own guns and started firing off, Jack rolling to avoid them as he reloaded and shot at him again.

“And what’s an old man like you doing here? Nostalgia?”  

“It’s none of your damn business.” Jack continued to shoot, glancing back towards where the kids had run, his visor not detecting anything in the way. He was in the clear, all he needed to do was lose Reaper in the maze of rooms and hallways. Jack shot off a load of Helix rockets, spinning toward Reaper who turned again into his cloud as he laughed. Jack smirked under his visor as the rockets blasted into the wall, the concrete laden with dust and dirt making a cloud of its own, enough for Jack to use as cover as he descended the stairs again. He didn’t wait to listen for footsteps, instead kicking down the door closest to him and darting inside. His visor almost didn’t work fast enough as it scanned the dark room, but he quickly found that there were no file cabinets in it. Another room then. Jack heard Reaper laughing as he descended the stairs, and looked back and sent another barrage of rockets toward the staircase, hoping to create more dust and give him a little more time.

“This is useless, soldier. You’ll never get to him before I do.” Reaper’s voice echoed off the walls, grating against Jack’s ears as he tried to find the room he needed. They’d been numbered on the blueprints, but he’d already lost count, and it wasn’t like the blueprint had said which ones were digital or paper storerooms.

“What’re you talking about?” Jack froze. Was there another person in the building? Someone that hadn’t been with the children? Someone with enough of a name to warrant having Reaper trail them? Either way they weren’t in a good position, and Jack needed to hurry and get what he came for and save them. He darted into the room he’d been in again as Reaper shot at him, soon blocking the door. Reaper obviously not remembering the gait Jack had as the soldier shoved the dark clad man towards the opposite door, the thing giving way as they both fell against it. And of course this had to be the room that had the file cabinets.

Reaper shoved Jack off of him, reaching for his guns before Jack had the chance to kick them away. He jumped up and hurried out of the room. He needed to reach whoever still hid there, and the only place he could imagine someone hiding was in the upper floors, in the rooms actually meant to house people.

Jack ran down the hallway, rifle against his chest as he rounded the corner to get up the stairs, continuing up towards the third floor from the basement. He scanned the large hallway, looking for any traces of a person being there, and almost sighed in relief when he saw light coming from one of the inner rooms. If anybody had seen the building from the outside, they would never know someone had been living there. It took a couple strides to get there, the entire time he could hear Reaper shooting through doors on lower levels, the sound his shotguns made covering up the sound of his footsteps. Reaper didn’t know the building, at least not like Jack did.

The door gave way easy enough, and Jack blinked as he saw an old man standing there with a gun pointing at him.

“You’re being hunted. Unless you leave now, you’ll die.” Jack took in huge gulps of air, listening back, trying to discern what floor Reaper had gotten to; he wasn’t far, that was for sure.

“How do I know you’re not here to kill me?” The man’s voice cracked, tears forming and falling from his eyes as he held the gun out in front of him. It looked old, maybe pre-crisis even; that would explain how he could get ahold of it.

“You’d be dead already if I were. You’ve heard of Reaper? He’s on your trail. Leave, now.” Jack stepped aside to let the man through. He paused before nodding and looking out the door to see if the way was clear, then jumped over the fallen door. Jack followed him, watching his back, scanning the area. “I’ve activated my tactical visor.”

The man flinched, looking back before nodding. Jack didn’t want to give Reaper a chance to take him down, because if this guy stuck with Reaper's MO, it meant he was a former agent of Overwatch. Who he was, Jack couldn’t remember, but the man knew something that Reaper wanted, or maybe the monster just wanted to kill him out of spite; that wouldn’t be the first time after all.

“Die!” The threat resounded off the walls, and Jack saw Reaper run up the stairs in front of them. He pushed the man to the side and shot his rifle in quick succession toward the wraith, everything bouncing off until he reformed and continued a barrage with his shotguns, pushing Jack back with one blast, the other aiming for the old man’s head.

“No!” Jack struggled to get up, the shot only knocking the wind out of him at such far range, but Reaper wasn’t far from the man when he shot him in the head, blood spattering everywhere. Reaper dropped his guns, feet hovering over the ground as he surged forward toward Jack. His clawed hand took him by the neck, swatting away the rifle as he pushed him against the wall.

“You couldn’t stop it. Now how did you know I’d be here?” Reaper’s voice grated against everything, as though a voice shouldn’t be coming from the figure in front of him, but did. Jack tried to catch his breath, gaining his strength back for when he could remove the man in front of him.

“I didn’t.” And if Reaper thought that Jack had been following him, then he knew that the cloaked man definitely hadn’t followed him.

“Whatever you needed from him is gone now. I wouldn’t try fighting back at your age.” Reaper threw him away from the man, and Jack rolled, landing on his shoulder, groaning in pain. He watched as Reaper approached the dead man, back facing Jack. One hand went to his face as he bent down, the other going to the man’s neck as he lifted him up. Jack turned away, he couldn’t watch whatever life force the man had left being sucked away. Whatever sick thing Reaper did with these people’s souls, he didn’t want to know. Jack got to his knee as he saw Reaper drop the body and replace his mask, turning to face Jack.

“Why are you still here?”

“You said it yourself, I’m an old man now.” Reaper scoffed then turned away, and jumping the railing and turning back to smoke before landing; he left the building without looking back to Jack. He sighed in relief before turning toward the stairs. The man’s body laid there, almost deflated and all color drained. Jack fought the urge to vomit; age had definitely made these kind of things affect him more. He walked around the pool of blood and headed down the stairs, one arm holding his rifle, the other holding his side, hoping that nothing Reaper had shot at him had actually gotten through the vest under his jacket.

Reaper got what he’d wanted here, so it meant Jack should be alone in his search. He hoped the other man hadn’t destroyed anything while he’d been down here, but Jack knew from experience not to keep those hopes too high. The basement still had dust floating around,  but Jack couldn’t see any more damage to the walls or ceiling than what had happened while he’d fought the dark figure there. He approached the door that had led into the paper storage room, and almost smiled when he saw that the cabinets were still intact.

It took a couple hours, having to sort through which cabinets were mission files, which ones were inventory, and which ones were personnel files. This had been the watchpoint to where everything was thrown away. Jack was sure if someone had wanted to hide a body, even during Overwatch’s glory days, this would have been the perfect hiding spot. As it was, the personnel files only contained information of the people who had passed through there, and when they had stopped. Jack knew that he’d passed through the watchpoint more than a handful of times with his old buddies, there still had to be something left that had recorded that.

Down in the last drawer, he pulled out the folder that had the recordings of who’d stopped by in the summer so many years ago. He knew he’d been there for a few weeks recovering from a broken arm and fractured ribs; his lung had been punctured and he’d had to wait for surgery. He also happened to celebrate his birthday there, though it hadn’t been large. Jack just hoped that someone had taken a picture of something during the whole ordeal.

Near the end of the file where all the pictures that were printed to document the time. He was sure that someone had to have digital versions of everything, but he wouldn’t be able to get his hands on those; this was the best he could do. There were pictures of his friends who only stopped by for a day or two, nobody stayed long except to catch up on sleep, but then there were other pictures; the pictures he was looking for rested at the bottom of the pile.

Faded pictures of him smiling in bed, bandages covering his torso and his arm in a cast with his friends around him. That was back when smiles weren’t rare, when things didn’t seem that bad, even with the crisis looming over everything; it was back when he could see perfectly without the damned visor. It was back when Gabriel still spent time with him; when Gabe still loved him.

The last picture of the bunch was of the mess hall, a small cupcake with a candle at the center, and behind it was Jack smiling as Gabe kissed him on the cheek. Public displays of affection had never been Gabe’s style, it had always been Jack taking his hand when they walked down a hallway, kissing him before going into a mission debriefing. That birthday had been one of the few times Gabe initiated the contact in front of other people, and thinking about it was enough to make Jack’s throat feel dry. He swallowed and took the picture from the others, folding it neatly and placing it in his pocket. There were others, but none of them meant quite the same. He’d let some scavenger come in and take them, maybe sell them on the internet for a few hundred dollars to fanatics who couldn’t get over themselves.

Jack joisted his pulse rifle up then and headed toward the exit of the Watchpoint; nothing else was keeping him there, much like once he’d gotten his kill Reaper had left. Something nagged at him in the back of his head to try and figure out who the creep had shot, but he didn’t want to find out what other friend of his had been claimed by the world wanted terrorist.

The road back to the town still stood in the dark, the new moon allowing Jack to move at his own pace, assuring him that no one else would see him that night. It was probably later than he thought, but he didn’t check. All he needed was sleep now, and once back into the old decrepit house he’d called his temporary base, he did just that, the picture he’d rescued propped up on the nightstand next to him.

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel's new memories are enough to evoke emotion in him other than hate.  
> \------  
> Jack can't help but think Reaper's new kills are working toward getting closer to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to update at least once a week, but I have no clue how long this is going to be. Thank you for reading! You comments and kudos mean a lot :)

   Gabriel looked back toward the Watchpoint once he was far enough away. He hadn’t expected Soldier 76 to be there, he was lucky he’d caught the old man off guard, and he was even luckier he’d still gotten the kill. Whatever he’d been cursed to do for the rest of his life was slowly turning into something not so bad. There were days where he felt his body shift in and out of being solid, and there were days where he felt like no one saw him at all; those were the worst. It took strong memories for him to stay anchored, and after the explosion it’d been hard to hang on to his. There was nothing to bring them back.

   He continued away from the town, not wanting to find out how rural people reacted to someone known world-wide. The sun started to rise as he hurried down the nearest road. The heat began to take hold of the land around him, but all Gabriel could do was take in the emotions of the man he’d killed at the watchpoint. He’d worked for Overwatch soon after its formation; he’d always worked at that watchpoint. It had been a simple job, cleaning, but there were perks too, like when the strike-commander would come through and all his attache. These were the memories Gabriel had wanted.

   Former Overwatch Strike-Commander Jack Morrison had spent a prolonged time at the watchpoint after he sustained a serious injury. Gabe hadn’t been able to go and see him until he’d been there two weeks since he’d been on a mission with Blackwatch himself. Those two weeks were what he sought, the time that Jack was alone, where he was at his most vulnerable. The man he’d killed, Zachariah Castillo, he’d attended Jack after his surgery, and Gabe couldn’t help but stop moving and think back through it all.

   The surgery had been hard, a lot of the equipment hadn’t been upgraded, and if it weren’t for Jack having gone through the enhancement program, he wouldn’t have survived. But since he did, he healed quickly after the surgery, only being kept on to make sure none of the old equipment had done anything to him, like give him Tetanus or something. Zachariah, a clerk, needing money to send his little girls to college, had spent extra time with him. They played canasta, and a bunch of card games that Gabe hadn’t heard of before. It still surprised him through each new memory how nice Jack was when around new people. The stupid smile on Jack’s face in most of the memories was enough to make Gabe feel solid, at least for now.

But there were more memories of Jack than Gabriel had expected, it just kept going, including memories of himself when he was still, well, himself. And there was one memory he didn’t think anyone else would have except for the ones he knew he couldn’t kill, and that was Jack’s birthday. It seemed Zachariah had taken a picture of them after Jack had blown out the candle.

Gabriel took a shaky breath. He hadn’t expected that, but now it was with him, and it reinforced his own memories of that day. Everything he’d gotten from the man’s soul had been more than he wanted, more than what he knew he needed, and then a thought struck him. Why had Soldier 76 been there? Nothing of importance, at least from what he knew from other missions Talon had given him, had ever been stored there. He shook his head and moved on, streaking across the land in his cloud of smoke to travel to the next point he needed.

He scoured the rest of the memories he could druge up, trying to see if Zachariah knew of anything that had been stored there, but nothing came up. It seemed that the old clerk had only stored photographs taken on site in both the physical and digital database. But that meant… that meant the photo he’d taken of Jack’s birthday was stored there. The urge to go back and look for it was almost too much, but Gabriel couldn’t risk being in one place too long should someone spot him. He growled, he’d had to go back in a couple weeks, maybe even a month, and who knew what would still be there then.

For now, he would focus on the next person he needed to kill for Talon, and get a more updated list on still living members of Overwatch.

* * *

  


   Jack groaned as he rolled over in bed. He’d slept like a rock, but that didn’t mean it was restful. Whatever pain he had the day before was already gone, but that didn’t mean his joints didn’t want to take him down. He guessed that was something they hadn’t thought about back in the program, the soldiers growing old and getting arthritis. Usually people like him died in combat, he guessed he just wasn’t done yet.

   He ran a hand through his hair before replacing his visor on his face, everything becoming clear around him; his eyes seemed to be going too, no longer focusing as they had. He got up from bed and stretched, trying to remove any and all kinks the old bed might have given him; he had a long day ahead of him after all.

   The familiar hum of the bike’s engine under him made Jack rela. Walking everywhere put a damper on things, but long distance traveling never did. He hadn’t been able to get his old bike, that was too far gone in the recesses of some fool’s collection, but that didn’t mean there hadn’t been other bikes he had access to. He rode on, his rifle strapped to his back as the landscape rushed by him. There were other similar places to the watchpoint he’d visited; there were places that he’d spent time relaxing, where’d just slept because he hadn’t in days. He could have gone to any of them, but the man Reaper had killed wouldn’t leave his mind. Something told him he should figure out who he was, and the only way he could do that would be to go back to the body and see if there was any identification.

   Jack grumbled and groaned; walking around in sunlight was never nice, especially now that his hair was thinning and his head required more sunscreen than he liked. Age wasn’t nice, but he knew that had he not gone through the soldier enhancement program he’d feel like he was in his 60s instead of late 40s. He remembered being able to go days on end without sleeping; sure his reaction time slowed as every hour went by, but he still got the mission done and had been able to retire to his quarters where the love of his life usually waited for him, if he wasn’t on his own mission. Saying that Jack missed those days was a gross understatement. As it was, he’d been able to sleep adequately that night, so he felt a little better, that and the heat was at least helping the joints in his hands.

   The watchpoint still stood the same as it had the night before; the gate was still the way he’d left it, and there weren’t any signs of the children having returned. He’d be surprised if anyone did after last night; stories of death walking those halls wouldn’t be taken lightly, not with Reaper being a real person wanted around the globe. Not that he was any different of course; he couldn’t remember the amount of agencies that were on his trail. But if everything was left untouched, then the poor man that Reaper had killed the night before would still be there. And he was.

   Robbed of any sort of life, the body laid there with almost no blood except for the immediate wound. Jack took a large breath before he picked the body up and turned it over, checking pockets, trying to find some sort of wallet. For his luck, it seemed the wallet had fallen out inside the doorway to the room he’d been hiding in before last night. Jack picked up the small leather thing and fished through it until he found a driver’s license. It had expired some years ago, but the name and everything was still legible, reading Zachariah Casillo, and he blinked a few times, hoping his eyes weren’t fooling him. This was the man who’d taken care of him so long ago, this was the man who’d taken the picture he’d come here for.

   It was decades ago now, and Jack was surprised he could still remember everything that had happened back then, but the time he spent at the watchpoint in Death Valley was definitely time he remembered. But this man, he hadn’t been more than a clerk, why had Reaper wanted him so badly? Jack groaned placed the wallet next to the body before heading outside again. He’d call the police from a payphone and tell them he’d seen people trespassing. Whatever they did when they got there wouldn’t be his problem, but he didn’t want Zach to lie there the rest of his life when he deserved more.

* * *

  
  


   Gabriel couldn’t stop himself from groaning after he’d left the Talon base; he’d just refused a job, he wasn’t doing escort duty again. But that meant he was free to look around for whoever he needed next. He shook his head, trying to chain himself down as he walked down the road. Boredom did not help keep him solid, but there was nothing to be mad about, nothing to hate, at least not yet. He thought back to the fresh memories he had and surprisingly enough that was enough to make him actually feel his limbs. Any memory of Jack was usually enough to do that, but that birthday they’d spent in Death Valley kept coming up, and of course those reinforced his own memories of that time. He’d almost forgotten about it until the day before.

   Vanishing into smoke, he traveled. There were other old Overwatch staff he could get to, other old operatives that hadn’t died yet. There were some that had retired before the group died down, before everything had gone to shit. Sadly, they were the harder ones to kill; it was hard to surprise people who were expecting you to knock on their door. But that wouldn’t stop him.

   The familiar pull to a place that held significance came again. Los Angeles stood vaster than if had before, and skyscrapers scratching up the sky. It wasn’t hard to go from shadow to shadow, avoiding contact with anyone. It just so happened that there was someone there he could hit, someone there who could give him what he needed.

   Gabriel took his physical form behind a large apartment complex, clawed hand grating against the corner of the building. He could smell the souls of the people within; he could almost smell the individual emotions they all held, and it was easy to spot the one he needed. They wouldn’t expect it, no one ever did, and though Gabriel remembered them from his own days in Overwatch, they wouldn’t know it was him.

   The old lady smiled, nearing her mid 70s now, as she watched the television. She’d just come home from surgery, and Gabriel could practically smell the stench of hospital on her. She was dying already, they hadn’t stitched her back up properly; she didn’t trust the new equipment and had asked for the old; no one had used a needle and thread for sewing back organs and skin for decades now. As far as he saw it, Gabriel was helping her.

   “I hear you. Took you long enough.” The familiar voice almost sung, and Gabriel stepped behind her rocking chair that sat in front of the television.

   “You knew I was coming.”

   “I knew you would. You’ve developed a pattern. Old useless members first, right? I feel weak already, so go ahead.” The lady smiled up to Gabriel, and he wondered if she only saw him as Reaper, or knew who stood behind the mask. He didn’t want to find out; maybe she thought he was Death in all his glory, it didn’t matter. Reaching out a hand, he change dto smoke and moved through her, the essence of her life sticking to him, sticking to the thing that used to be his own soul and now stood vacant like a black hole, not letting anything living escape. He stood in front of her now, looking at the old lady’s smiling face before he left the apartment for whoever took care of her to find that she’d passed from surgical complications and being released too early.

   Gabriel traveled until he was alone in all directions once again, and then collapsed to the floor. The more souls he consumed the more human he felt, and the more human he felt the harder his powers were to control. These sorts of things he could do weren’t meant for mortal people; there was no balance between what he needed to do to stay alive, and how he could do them without control. He coughed onto the ground, black smoke surging from his mouth and then rejoining him under his clothes. It felt like losing part of himself only for it to be shoved right back down his throat. The memories that came with the woman’s soul didn’t help.

   She’d served directly under Jack while he worked in various Watchpoints, traveling to the one nearest him when he’d been on missions; she had basically been his secretary, reminding him of things that needed done, of when other mission reports and debriefings needed to be finished. She also happened to have to remind him of several important dates, including Gabriel's’ birthday and their four year anniversary; it had been the last they spent together, all the others they’d been on different sides of the world. And Tanya Yelchin had retired after that.

* * *

  


   “Fuck!” Jack couldn’t stop himself from punching the wall of the abandoned motel. He’d hardwired a television and everything else to get it working again to see if there was any news interesting enough to pull his attention. What he didn’t expect was to see Tanya Yelchin’s name scroll across the bottom as they reported about sighting of Reaper in Los Angeles. Reaper wasn’t as sneaky as he thought.

   He remembered Tanya well, he’d even kept in touch with her after she retired and before all the shit went down in Switzerland. She hadn’t been important in Overwatch’s dealings, he’d even checked her out to see if she’d had a hand in whatever had corrupted the thing, but no, she’d been clean. Why did Reaper target her then? These kills, at least the ones that Jack knew about, they seemed to be people Jack knew, people he’d been close to at one point, or people that had at least known him. There had to be a connection. Did this mean Reaper was trying to figure out more about hi, to finally kill him? The fact that he hadn’t in Death Valley still made him feel odd, but he pushed that aside thinking Reaper had better things to do.

   Jack still couldn’t shake the feeling that Reaper was trying to get closer to him, and that with each kill he made, he was setting a trap it would be impossible to escape from.

   

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, so I'm going out of town next week and won't have internet, and I've also gotten injured in a way that makes it hard for me to use my glasses, so I won't be able to post this week. Expect something during the first full week of August though! I promise your waiting will be rewarded! Thank you for reading :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They meet, and disguises are left on the side.

It took a couple hours and several public libraries, but soon enough Jack left the last one with a sizable drive with all the information about the people who’d worked under him. The years and the explosion had muddled his memory more than he thought,  but now he could anticipate who Reaper would go after next and hopefully stop him before he committed the act. This was of course all assuming that he didn’t change sides of the continent, and stayed near Los Angeles. Not that it would be easy even if he stayed in one of the most populated places in the States. 

Jack grumbled as he lumbered down an alleyway, staying out of the light when possible, making sure his visor didn’t flash into the street. There was a doctor, the one who’d given him his physicals before Angela had gone and taken control of the medical branch. This doctor had retired right after Angela had joined Overwatch, so Jack would be surprised if Reaper even knew about him, since Jack had all but forgotten himself. Maybe his age really was catching up with him. He just hoped that Roman Ferrenzo was still alive. 

It wasn’t hard to get an address for the old man, he was pushing his nineties and was living in an assisted care facility, so doing better than most people his age rotting away in a nursing home. He had his own setup, and he was reportingly doing better than many widowers, having outlived his husband by more than ten years. This had all been in the file that Jack had been able to hack from the assisted living center’s computer. Overall, he was doing pretty good, and only having to take medication for arthritis and allergies. Even Jack had to take some painkillers sometimes. 

The light from the moon reflected off the solar panels on the roof of the building, giving Jack enough light to see by. Hopefully no one else would be out at almost one in the morning, except for the person he was waiting for. He’d gone and made sure that Roman’s room had been locked and that the guard shift duty, since some of the old people were important, went by his room often enough. People never really gave him enough credit for what he could do with a computer back in his day, though compared to now he knew his skills were ancient. 

Every sound grazed across Jack’s ear as he searched for any noises out of the ordinary. Cats jumped from the nearby roof, some people were taking out their garbage way too late, and someone seemed to be limping down the sidewalk with a metal boot. Jack leaned toward where the scraping continued and jumped down from his perch once it stopped. No one else had been walking around, for someone else to be limping around now wasn’t likely. Jack hoped it was who he was looking for.

The winter air wasn’t crisp like it had been in his hometown, but a mist layered down the suburb of Los Angeles, enough to make it hard to see too far, even with his visor. The wall around the assisted living center let Jack monitor the sounds around him as he walked the perimeter, waiting for the light from the nearby street lamps to shine onto the person he was looking for. 

Then like nails scraping across the chalkboard, metal grated against the concrete wall surrounding the building. Jack cursed and tried to follow it to the source, but soon enough the source found him, shotguns  letting loose on the wall in front of him. 

Jack rolled to the other side of the alley, his rifle aimed and his visor calibrated, he shot out as a large wisp of black smoke rounded the corner. Everything went through it before it finally collected back into the person he’d been looking for. Reaper didn’t let loose his usual laugh at the idea of violence, instead staying quiet as he let loose another shot from each of his guns, Jack rolling away again and groaning as his back hit the wall on the other side. 

“Didn’t know you were fond of stalking, Soldier.” Reaper’s voice rasped as he threw away his guns, and Jack took his chance to lunge forward, to get the other man off his footing. Pushing him against the alley wall, Jack thrust his rifle against his chest, reaching to take off the mask Reaper wore. Clawed hands grabbed his as it curled around the eye openings, pushing through gloves he wore and piercing the skin. 

“Didn’t know you were fond of scaring senior citizens. Why are you going after Roman Ferrenzo?” Jack didn’t move his hand, and Reaper didn’t either, pausing as if for dramatic effect. Jack growled and kicked his knee up into Reaper’s crotch, clawed hands leaving his, allowing him to pull off the mask for the first time. He almost fell backward at what he saw. 

The hood Reaper wore hid most of the face in shadow, though Jack was sure the face itself seemed to fade into and out of solidity, red eyes glowing from underneath, the same strong jawline being defined in the low amount of light reaching them both. He did step back as Reaper looked towards his visor, eyes boring into his own, as if the man in front of Jack could see his thoughts like subtitles, could feel his heart pumping. The face wasn’t one Jack thought he would ever see again, but there he was, a lover back from the dead, risen as an enemy.

“Gabe?” Jack lowered his rifle, heart thudding hard and fast in his chest at the idea of his long thought dead friend being alive and there.

“Gabriel Reyes is dead.” It seemed the mask didn’t do much for his voice, the idea of him needing to cough still itching the back of Jack’s own throat. Jack dropped Reaper’s mask to the ground, the hand holding his rifle almost releasing that as well. He opened his mouth to speak again, but the man in front of him, Reaper, no. Gabriel evaporated into smoke again, whisking away from where he’d come, leaving Jack alone in the alleyway, wondering whether or not this was a nightmare or a dream come true.

* * *

 

It took a few days, but Jack had wanted to get as far away from Los Angeles as possible. There was nothing for him there, and he knew there was no point sticking around, even if Gabe was planning on taking another victim he’d known in his past life. The only place of refuge Jack knew truly sat untouched stood alone in Indiana, a small farm house with property undisturbed for decades. 

Snow blanketed the ground around the yellow farmstead, and Jack grunted as he pulled his legs out of the packed ice. There wasn’t any point in going somewhere public right now, all Jack wanted to do was be alone, even though every bone in his body screamed that he should look for Gabe again, to ask him what happened, to ask him why he was killing people who had worked for Jack, was he was killing people he had known before the fall of Overwatch. There wasn’t any point to it, he knew that. Reaper was known around the world was a terrorist, meaning that the Gabe Jack had known, the man he’d known and loved for so long, had changed, and sadly, had changed for the worse. Thinking on that too long was sure to make him feel like shit, and so going back to the place where Gabe had never been, well, it seemed like the only viable solution. 

The door to the house sat locked, like Jack had left it so many years ago after his parents had died, the key hiding neatly in a cutout of a column holding the porch up. He took the key and unlocked the door, glad for the filters in his mask as it kept the dust out of his lungs. Everything sat dark and unwelcoming, as if touching the place after he had publicly died was a sin. Sacred ground such as this wasn’t meant to be touched by the dead, but here he was, seeking his solace in a place he hadn’t in years. 

Jack took his mask off after he walked into the kitchen, the locks and vents hissing as the air released, letting him breath in the air that chilled his lungs. Looking over into the mudroom he sighed in relief at seeing some wood still stacked there. With a fire started, and old clothes taken from his bedroom, Jack sat in the rocking chair in front of the fireplace, eyeing the flames and wishing he’d died in the ones that had scarred him so badly. 

It hadn’t helped that he still lived in a world that had accepted his death, in a world that thought that what he’d worked his entire being for had become corrupt and disgusting, but here he was. Jack groaned as he stood up again, stretching his arms as he headed back into the kitchen where his visor still rested. Next to it was the mask he’d been able to pull off of Gabe, the thing that had hidden one of the only reasons he was still kicking around. Memories had been enough until Jack found out that the one he was trying to remember still lived, but there was no use going after him now, not after everything. 

Wind ran through the house, sending chills down Jack’s spine, reminding him of why he spent winters in California with Gabe’s family. Sure, snow was fun, but not when you couldn’t feel warm for months on end. He looked through the house until he found a big enough coat to fit him, and buttoned it up, hoping he could stay warm enough without all his gear. It weighed him down almost as much as the thoughts he couldn’t shake. When the house creaked again without the prompting of the wind, he knew he shouldn’t have taken any of his equipment off. Jack reached for his pulse rifle that laid against the wall near the door and peered out the window. 

Flecks of snow flew by on the trails of the small amount of wind, but not enough to hide anything from his unaided sight. His eyes weren’t what they used to be, but a big blob of black  with billowing black behind it wasn’t something easily hid.  Jack cursed and ran for his room, trying to find his vest that he’d been able to fit under his jacket, fumbling it on under the coat he’d put on before returning to the living room. The mass of black loomed closer, and Jack knew there was no mistaking for who it was, so he took a deep breath and opened the door, his rifle pointing at the figure in front of him.

“Gabriel, I left you alone. What do you want?” Using that name, it felt weird. He’d cried thinking about it before, in his more vulnerable ties after the explosion, thinking back to everything they had been, thinking about everything they could have been. Now was not one of those times, but Jack’s throat cut short at the end of his question. 

“I thought you were a dead man, Jack.” Gabe’s voice, it seemed smoother, almost as if he’d taken a cough drop to keep himself from rasping. It sounded more like the Gabe he remembered, and that definitely put him a little on guard. 

“It didn’t take.” He shrugged his shoulders. It’d been a long healing process, even for someone pumped with all the chemicals like him, but he’d made it through; he’d thought Gabe’s body, that Gabe had been more destroyed for anything to work. 

“It seems like that’s the same for both of us then.” Gabe stopped before the porch, his mask not there, no guns in sight; both of them stayed quiet, the only noise coming from the constant and near-silent hum of Jack’s pulse rifle. That was until Gabe spoke again. “Can I come in?”

Jack couldn’t find it in him to say anything, so he stood to the side, leaving the door open for him to walk forward, his rifle facing the ground. If Gabe was truly gone, he’d die now, but for some reason that didn’t seem like it would happen. Jack walked in after Gabe, his rifle still in hand as he closed the door. 

“You asked me to come here once for Thanksgiving and Christmas. Do you remember that? It was right after we’d been debriefed for a mission in Costa Rica.” The memory resurfaced and Jack couldn’t believe it’d still been there. It had been long ago, when they weren’t a fully organized operation, and still mostly a strike team. Only Gabe would remember something as sentimental as that moment, that was for sure. 

“Yeah, and you said hell no. You didn’t want to freeze your ass off during the few days you had off duty.” They’d spent the time with Gabriel’s family instead, his younger siblings and parents glad to finally meet him after letters talking about the program and the beginnings of Overwatch. It had been one of the few times he’d spent a holiday actually celebrating rather than writing up a report on a mission. 

Gabe laughed and nodded, taking off the huge cape behind him and laying it on the couch. Every move of his seemed calculated, as though he didn’t want to overstep and unsaid boundaries they had. Until a week ago they’d wanted to kill each other, and now, well, Jack didn’t know what he wanted. 

“If you want something more comfortable that battle armor, I’ve got clothes upstairs.” An odd thought, something Jack hadn’t actually contemplated before saying, but he didn’t regret it either. If Gabe were to change into clothes that made him look more human it’d be easier to handle whatever the situation they were in. The other man didn’t respond right away, again wanting to make sure if this was something allowed, or a trap. Jack didn’t know if he could have made one in his own house. There was something still hanging around the place that made him want to sleep and disturb as little as possible. 

“That’d be nice.” Gabe nodded, and Jack swallowed before mirroring him, leaning his rifle back against the wall before walking upstairs toward his room. The upstairs hallway creaked under their combined weights, reminding Jack of exactly how old the house was, and how much heavier he was than when he’d been on his high school baseball team. Gabe walked behind him, the only sound coming from his boots almost scraping across the floor. The door to his room still stood open from when he’d gone inside, and he opened it further to let Gabe in to see where he’d spent the early years of his life.

Posters adorned the walls, the corners rolled up or peeled, some even had mold growing on them from the window never being shut correctly. They all sat faded now, showing different sports teams, and a couple recruitment posters from the military. His acceptance letter was pinned next to his bed that sat on a steel frame. The wardrobe his parents had carted off from an estate sale sat open and filled with his winter wardrobe, all his summer clothes gone and boxed up in the corner of the room. 

“Feel free to take anything. The fire is the only heating in the house, so bundle up.” Jack didn’t know if Gabe even needed to keep warm, he only knew that he couldn’t be human anymore, or at least not completely, not with what he could do. Not with the things Jack had seen him do. He turned from the room, leaving Gabriel there to dress himself. The fact that someone Jack had thought he hated stood in the house now, close enough to touch, it felt weird to say the least. Jack shook his head and descended the stairs, wondering what could come of all this.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for being patient with me! I've been all over the place, and I'll be moving soon, but thankfully we're coming up on the end soon enough! Thank you for reading, your comments and kudos mean a lot :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are talked about, some things are skipped over, and the most important things are left until tomorrow.

Cool air hit Gabriel's face from the crack in the window, making him blink and turn away. He felt full and empty at the same time; memories of the few people he'd killed swam through his brain, not letting him focus on his own, or memories of Jack. Even calling forth the one he had downstairs had been hard. Now he was supposed to be changing into Jack's clothes, supposedly getting rid of what made him seem so menacing, and Gabe couldn't say he didn't want to. He slowly took the body armor off, placing and folding everything neatly at the foot of Jack's bed before reaching into the closet and pulling out a pair of pants.

Almost nothing fit him, the few inches he had on the other man enough to make it hard, but then he found a pair of sweats and an old high school sweatshirt that Mrs. Morrison probably thought her son would grow into. With those on, Gabe took a pair of thick woolen socks and finished his outfit. The scent of aged wood and whiskey came off the sweatshirt, and Gabe found out why when he opened the other wardrobe door to find three empty bottles; they didn't seem recent placements.

The house continued to creak under his weight, and Gabe couldn't help but think it was an entity; the house was trying to protect its owners from the trespasser, from the person who had caused so much pain for its last remaining owner. He couldn't say he felt comfortable there either, but knowing that Jack was alive after all this time, that was enough to make him pause and rethink.

Gabe took the stairs down one by one, letting Jack know he was coming before he saw him; he didn't know exactly what to say. Jack knew he'd been hunting old acquaintances, but could he really tell him it was to get memories of the one he thought dead? Would Jack still want him there? Gabe bit his teeth down and entered the living room to see Jack sitting in a rocking chair, nursing a cup holding amber liquid; maybe the whiskey bottles weren't as old as he thought.

“Didn't know that sweatshirt was still in there.” Jack smiled and took a sip from his cup.

“Nothing else fit.” It was the truth, it was something easy to say. Gabe took a step toward the couch, resting his hand on the back. Jack nodded and Gabe blinked, trying not to recognize that he was looking for the okay to just sit down. He did. They both stayed silent, both looking into the fire as it supplied the only other noise in the room, crackling, trying to break whatever it was that stood between them.

“I thought you were dead. After the explosion-”

“It was bad.” He had died, but how do you explain something like that? Gabe rolled back his shoulders and settled further into the couch, refusing to look Jack in the eye. The guilt that came with the souls of those they'd both known and worked with weighed down now more than ever, and Gabe knew why.

“...What happened, Gabe?”

“I don't think you want to know.”

“Tell me why you were killing people, then.”

“Because I could? Afterward-” Gabe closed his eyes. Memories were bombarding him; any emotion brought on memories corresponding with them from the most recent souls, and he couldn't exactly shake the few he'd gotten before he'd gone to Indiana. “-I was angry. I was mad at everyone; at you, at- at everyone.”

“Fuck, Gabriel.” Jack dug his palms into his eyes, and Gabe took that time to finally get a good look at him. His face had two prominent scars, ones he'd seen fresh and bloody in Switzerland, but there were others. Burns, probably gotten after Gabe had passed out, or in other fights afterward. He no longer looked like the strapping young boy who joined the military so long ago. He didn't look like the hardened soldier after he'd become Strike-Commander either. Mostly he looked tired, dead tired. Not that Gabe felt any better most of the time.

“I know what I did. I can't change it. I won't change it. I need it-”

“Need?” Jack lowered his hand and met Gabriel's eyes. He couldn't look away now if he wanted to, the blue eyes he'd lost himself in before holding him down, almost suffocating now.

“I died back there, Jack. No one comes from the brink of death without a price.” It was the truth, not everything, but all that Gabe wanted him to know. If Jack truly knew what he had to do to stay solid, to stay sane, he wouldn't still be here.

“Why did you Zachariah, Tanya? Why did you go after Roman? They were old, they were helpless. Why, Gabe?” Jack leaned forward in his chair now, his elbows resting on his knees, his cup in his hands. He looked away from Gabriel and toward his drink. 

_ You, _ Gabe thought. But Jack wouldn’t be happy about that, if anything he would be furious. 

“You remember when you were holed up in Death Valley, you'd just had surgery and you were put out for a couple weeks. We celebrated your birthday.” The memory wasn't as fresh as the others, but it surfaced easily, letting Gabe sigh as he saw it in front of him, both from his eyes and from outside.

“Yeah. What's that got to do with anything?”

“Why were you in Death Valley?” At first Gabe had thought Soldier: 76 was on his trail, finally trying to gun him down and count him off, but that hadn't happened.

“I'd lost a trail and I thought there might be something there.” He didn't want to say, Gabe could tell. Whatever Jack had been there for, it was something he wanted to keep to himself.

“Zachariah, he took a picture of us on your birthday. Was it there?” At the mention of the picture Jack froze and cursed under his breath.

“Yeah, it was.” Jack reached into his back pocket, placing his now empty cup on the ground before unfolding it and gazing at it, then he handed it over. Gabriel took a deep breath and reached over, careful not to brush his fingers against the other man's. Jack didn't want that though, holding on as Gabe did. “I went to Death Valley for this. I knew there'd be something there. Anything not worth anything went there, and a photo- god Gabe. I missed you. I needed something to look at to remember days when we were still together and happy instead of this fucking mess.”

Jack let go of the picture, burying his face in his hands before sitting up, waiting for Gabe's reaction. It brought up the memory again of the old man taking the picture of them, the memory of Gabe kissing Jack on the cheek, of the short stubble his boyfriend had grown from not shaving since he'd had surgery. They'd stayed there for another week afterward.

“We were happy, weren't we?” Gabe hated how he needed to think back about that, that he couldn’t look at who they were now and say they were happy. They were the opposite; they were depressed, they were sad, they were old. But back then, back when Gabe still had a warm heart, and when Jack’s hair was still blond instead of white, they were happy. 

“Yeah. Despite everything. Now I'm just tired.” Jack rubbed his eyes again and Gabe stood from the couch, holding out the photo.

“You should sleep. I shouldn't be here.” The feeling the house gave him would never leave, he knew that, but the least he could do was let Jack settle in a comfortable place knowing that Gabe remembered everything he did. 

“Bullshit. I invited you in.” Jack took the photo and looked at it again before replacing it in his pocket. He stood from his chair after picking up his cup. He paused, eyes glued to Gabriel's face. “You could sleep the night, if you want.”

“I don't think you want that.” How could he? Gabe knew what he looked like, he knew that his eyes weren’t the same soft brown that Jack had hummed tunes about when he was drunk. He knew he had his own scars riddling his body, and more than Jack had. It didn’t feel like there was anything in him anymore worth loving or wanting, how could there be in someone who feasted off of soul to stay alive?

“I do, Gabe. I really do.” Jack took his hand, and Gabriel let him lead the way toward the bedroom, wondering if there was anything Jack regretted about letting him in. The bed was small,  especially considering their size, but Jack moved as close to the wall as he could get to make room for Gabe. The thick blankets did a good job of covering them, but Gabe wasn't sure what to do. He wanted to latch onto the man in front of him and never let go, to have his scent lull him to sleep like whenever Jack would use his soap back in the day. But he couldn't make himself do it. Thankfully he didn't have to.

Jack latched onto him, slotting one of his legs in between Gabe's, taking his hand and folding their fingers together. Gabe sighed in relief at that, closing his eyes, letting himself be taken back to when there wasn't anything wrong, when they were allowed to rest and be themselves. He always had been the sap between the two of them, even if he tried not to show it.

“G'night, Gabe.” Jack mumbled against his shoulder, his body heat sinking into the void Gabe felt of his own body. He couldn't possibly be warm enough to comfort the other man, but for the first time in a long time, he felt warm, and content, and that was enough to get him to sleep. What tomorrow brought was something to tackle tomorrow; right now, he could rest. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I might have an epilogue coming, but as for now, this is the end. Thank you for reading, and sorry if the Mature rating led you to believe there would be something more steamy. I like to be careful with ratings and consider cussing and the like. Again, thank you!


	5. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack wakes up, and Gabriel is still there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this chapter isn't needed for the plot, this is pure steam to sate the M rating I have for this thing. I'll probably bump it up to Explicit actually.

Rays of sunlight peaked through the thin curtains, casting their gaze onto Jack as he tried to blink it away. Gabe still dozed next to him, drool slowly dripping onto the pillow. It was weird to think that he’d missed this, that this huge mass next to him had at one point been the love of his life. Maybe he still was, Jack didn’t know if he could feel that strongly anymore. It took a lot more than he thought to wriggle out of Gabe’s arms, the man having latched onto him in his sleep, but soon enough he was sitting at the edge of the bed, rubbing his eyes, wishing he didn’t need his visor to see ten feet away from him. 

Gabriel stirred next to him, and Jack looked back to see him waking up, wiping the drool from his mouth before assessing his situation. His body jolted until he noticed Jack at the end of the bed, relaxing again as he brought his hands to his head. 

“I thought you’d left.”

“It’s my house, and I was never the one for leaving.” It’d always been Gabriel, leaving on secret missions, telling him he’d make it up for him next time, but that was a lifetime ago. 

“Why’re you sitting up?” Gabriel stifled a yawn, and Jack raised an eyebrow. 

“It’s morning.”

“Doesn’t mean we need to get out of bed.” Jack rolled his eyes at Gabriel’s response, but climbed back onto the small bed next to him. That’s when he felt the bulge in Gabriel’s pants. He blinked and looked down; it was really there. Gabriel looked down with him, almost surprised at what he saw.

“Didn’t really think that could happen anymore.”

“You didn’t think you could get a hardon anymore?” Jack laughed and if it weren’t for the ache in his bones and the cold air from the window it could have been any morning back in a base. He didn’t think as he leaned forward and kissed Gabriel, a hand going to rest on  his hip. The new scars going over his own lip, and the few small ones marring Gabriel’s was a new texture compared to what he remembered, and that should have been a warning sign that even though this was Gabriel, the situation was different, but then Gabriel cupped his face and kissed him back, almost desperate for the connection. 

When Jack finally pulled back he smiled, Gabriel’s eyes still closed. 

“I’ve wanted to do that since last night.” Gabriel voicing it made Jack’s chest heat up, and he gave him another short kiss, hand trailing down to his stomach. Gabe’s hand caught his and he started to apologize when Gabe let go. “Sorry, I just- I didn’t expect it.”

Jack knew it might be asking too much; they just met again after who knew how long, and he wouldn’t blame Gabe if he was uncomfortable doing anything. 

“If you don’t want to-” 

“Oh, god. Please.” Gabriel kissed him again, hand returning to his face. Jack kissed him back, slipping his hand under Gabe’s shirt, feeling his skin there, feeling the new scars that hadn’t been there the last time he remembered doing this. It didn’t take more than a little squirming for Gabe to hold himself over Jack, legs spread over his while he kissed him on his hands and knees. 

Jack let his hands wander over Gabe’s chest, pushing the sweatshirt further up until Gabriel finally took it off, throwing it into the corner. He was a sight to behold, his muscles almost strained against his skin, scars casting shadows and creating divots where there hadn’t been any before. He kissed Gabe’s jaw and his collarbone, hands going down to sneak under the waistband of his sweater, to better feel the bulge he’d joked about minutes earlier. Gabe sat back on his heels for a second, messing with Jack’s pants, trying to get them down so he could see Jack’s erection with his own. 

“Fuck.” He seemed breathtaken with the whole ordeal, and Jack wished he could say something, but with his mind now clouded over his only thought was to grasp Gabe and himself into his hand and slowly pump his hand. Gabe gasped, eyes closing as Jack moved his hand, spitting on it before continuing, trying to make it burn less than it already did. Gabriel shifted his legs forward, thrusting in time with Jack’s hand, trying to create more friction, more heat in between the two of them. 

It’d been a long time since Jack had done anything like this, and from what he could tell, Gabriel was in the same state, thrusting messily with Jack’s hand, the two of them breathing hard enough to be mistaken for people drowning. Heat built in Jack’s groin and he managed a strangled cry before he came over both of them, Gabe not far behind as he thrusted one last time against Jack’s cock, bracing himself with his arms over Jack’s chest. 

It took a couple minutes of hard breathing before either could talk, or even look each other in the eye, but when Jack got Gabriel’s, he used his clean hand to bring him closer, kissing him firm on the mouth. Gabe kissed back, tongue running over his bottom lip before biting down lightly. 

“God-Gabe, shit. Jack tried to string together a coherent thought, but nothing happened. Gabriel seemed to understand anyway, nodding before laying on his back next to Jack. 

“I didn’t know you still had it in you, old man.”

“You’re older than me, you fuck.” The two of them laughed before Gabriel swung his legs over the bed. “Where’re you going?”

“Bathroom. Don’t want to stink like old man all day.”

“Fuck you.” Jack shook his head, getting off the bed as well to follow him and clean himself up.

“You just did.” They both laughed as they walked down the hallway, grabbing towels and cleaning themselves up. Jack pulled a new shirt and a new pair of pants on before watching Gabriel pull his own clothes back on. 

“You know, I’m happy you’re here.” He rested his hand on Gabriel’s shoulder. The other man paused, touching Jack’s hand with his own. 

“I’m happy I am too.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you for reading! Your comments and kudos mean a lot <3


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